Rewind
by Kiyoshi Kitana
Summary: Nights like this give Rick hope. The walkers have taken over whole cities and suburbs, interstates and railways, but they can't destroy everything.  ShanexRick overtones. Written for archae ology for yuletide!


Out here on Hershel's farm, it's easy for Rick to remember what life was like before the walkers came. The clear night sky is dotted generously with stars, shaping the beautiful patterns of constellations he learned about long ago. The moon hangs full and heavy in the sky, lending its light to the acres of still scenery spread out in front of him. The world seems to have stopped moving and, for once, everything is quiet and peaceful. He still has worries but, with no immediate threat, he can set them aside.

For a little while, at least.

Nights like this give Rick hope. The walkers have taken over whole cities and suburbs, interstates and railways, but they can't destroy everything. Everything they touch rots and decays, but the sky, the stars, the sun, the moon - the walkers can't get those. Rick scrubs a hand over his face, three-day old stubble prickling his fingers.

No, there's still something in the world that those bastards can't touch.

The thin metal screen door leading back into Hershel's house rattles behind Rick, followed by heavy footsteps and a bone-weary sigh. The opening at the top of the porch's stairs is narrow, and there's just enough room for Shane to sit down next to him. Rick turns his head to look at Shane; the moonlight is kind to his best friend. Shane looks younger, less weary, and more like the playful man he's known all of his life.

"Peaceful out here, isn't it?" Shane murmurs, scratching at the little bit of hair he has left on his head.

Rick still isn't used to this new look of Shane's. He's used to being able to reach over and muss his hair, the one thing Shane is the vainest about. Was, Rick corrects himself. Shane doesn't seem to be too worked up about it now. Before, messing up his hair never failed to get a dirty look out of Shane but at the same time, like most of the bad-happenings between them, it never lasted long.

"Yeah," Rick replies, casting his gaze skyward once more. "Reminds me of when we were boys."

Shane lets out a little snort, settling his elbows on his knees. "There ain't a lot that can do that these days, that's for sure."

"Don't know if I'd agree with that," Rick says and, as if on cue, Shane follows up with, "You don't agree with much."

He looks over at Shane again and this time Shane's looking back at him, a grin tugging at his lips. Anyone else would wonder how they're best friends when they seem to disagree all the time, but Shane knows Rick inside out, and they agree on everything that matters.

"You said the exact same thing when we were like seventeen and I brought you that naughty book full of redheads," Shane continues, resting his cheek against his palm. "You remember that? The centerfold was hot, had the hugest tits," - he makes a quick cupping motion with both hands - "and all you could say was 'don't know if I'd agree with that!'"

Rick smiles, shaking his head. "I thought we agreed to disagree on that one, Shane."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But the one at the back of the book, now her," Shane replies, trailing off.

Rick knows Shane's remembering the same thing he remembers. He was an awkward, lanky teenager then, stuck in that state where he was too old to be a boy, too young to be a man, and a little less than a ball of hormonal confusion. Shane got the slightly better end of that stick; he was awkward too, but had a little more bulk behind him and a natural laid-back approach that hid the worst of his blunders.

All of that added up to the fact that by the time Rick got around the block once, Shane had run around two or three of them. That book was the start of something different between them, though, serving to help Rick catch up to Shane. Rick had subsisted on a daily diet of Shane's misadventures for months, tightening the wires of a tension Rick didn't know existed until it snapped.

It's an old memory, but it's clear in his mind's eye. They're both lying belly down on Shane's bed, heads propped up on their hands as they turn and stare at the pages of a glossy Hustler magazine. This one is a special print, has more pages than the usual one and a set focus - redheads. Rick remembers the images making his belly hot and his cock thicken, and he remembers hoping like hell that Shane won't notice how affected he is.

Shane does notice, though. Notices how his face is bright red and he can't stop squirming because he wants to get off so bad, but you just don't do that in front of your friends. Even if it's your best friend and he's seen you in every state of being possible. He remembers Shane teasing him briefly, just long enough to make him flush harder, and then the boy coaxing him to roll over and 'let him see.'

Rick realizes that all the good memories replay like they're on fast forward. One moment he's flopping onto his back, nervous butterflies fluttering madly in his stomach, and the next moment Shane's fingers are clumsily popping the button on his jeans and unzipping his fly. At the time he was sure Shane was going to laugh at him, but instead he got one of Shane's lopsided grins and a low whistle. He let Shane talk him into pulling his pants down past his hips, underwear and all, and the impressed look he had is one that's still searing into Rick's mind to this day.

Rick feels Shane bump against his shoulder, breaking up the nostalgia that settled over him. It's been a long time since he was a blushing virgin. He picks up the conversation like it never paused.

"I remember that," Rick murmurs, his mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Learned just how much of a pervert you really are."

That makes Shane laugh. Not loudly; just a chuckle, but Rick can't remember the last time the man laughed freely, without a hint of bitterness. "Don't pretend you didn't know it before then."

Rick leans back on his hands and Shane mimics him. They both look up at the evening sky, letting the quietness of the wilderness settle over them. After a long moment, Rick closes his eyes against the white brightness of the moon. He grits his teeth against the sudden hopelessness attempting to well up inside of his chest.

"Shane," he says abruptly, eyes still shut tight.

He hears Shane's clothes shift. He's turned to look at him.

"Yeah?"

"We're gonna make it out of this, you hear."

It's not a question. Rick knows Shane hears him. Shane makes a noise and Rick covers Shane's hand with his own. After a couple of seconds, when Shane doesn't make a move to pull away, Rick opens his eyes.

It's all the affirmation he needs.


End file.
